The Ark
by Late to the Party
Summary: Irenicus unwittingly provides Charname with the means to ruin the world. Is imitation really the highest form of flattery? (Warning: Blatant abuse of game concepts).


Long before the death of Irenicus our hero had amassed a hoard that put the red wyrm Firkraag's to shame. For indeed, how could he not with all the raiding, looting of his fallen foes, and pillaging of ruins? As a scholar and a student of wisdom, our hero's years in the great library of Candlekeep were not wasted. With the out-of-body experience that landed him in the Abyss, around which his subconscious mind formed a pocket plane, and with it, a portal. Now, this demi-plane held many possibilities, but perhaps the greatest was the use of the portal.

For it came to pass that while he, Imoen, and his companions were traipsing Faerun, a plan had taken form in the dark recesses of his mind. Long before he found himself on Irenicus' table, long before the scalpel bit into his flesh, he was fascinated with portals and the elemental planes. So when he found himself free in his captor's lair and the four mephit portals, which were themselves linked to various planes, the idea took root.

Awaking to the pocket plane filled him with a number of sensations, rage, frustration, indignation at yet another set of bruises across various appendages, but these quickly fled as he recalled the mephit portals.

And so it came to pass that our hero, with his vast wealth, did not stop in Saradush as the stone heads bade, and chose to interpret the prophecy in something of a different light. Chaos would indeed be sown by his and his siblings' passage, but not in the way anyone would expect. In a surprisingly short amount of time, after a proverbial hop, skip and a jump, our hero dipped in and out of all the various magic shoppes, stalls, with the wit and lack of pride to ask for directions. There he bought and commissioned a very specific item, a decanter of endless water. Now as it so happened, the pocket plane was conveniently formed with various sealed chambers, chambers of testing, or so the Solar, who woke him, claimed. This Solar appeared in the pocket plane as a guide; perhaps it was his subconscious' idea of a jape, or perhaps she was real. He really couldn't say, and quite honestly, it really didn't matter.

What did matter were those he cared about. Thus, did he venture far and wide, dipping in and out of Faerun, snatching his former associates and companions, any he felt would fit well in this new model society. For his plan was simplicity itself: start over.

Now for those who were unaware of the intricacies of the decanter, as he explained to, Skie but not Alora, who was off examining the shimmering walls, it formed a link to the plane of water, and as the plane was endless, water would always flow. Aerie, who huddled in a corner, having already grasped the depths of his scheme, could not bring herself to look up.

There were others, at least two of various species, and at least seven of others. One sealed room housed a menagerie, which included a pair of winter wolves, of whom he and Skie had developed a fondness for. Of course he didn't expect anyone to be happy with his plan, but after pointing out the 'wall of the faithless' in the city of the dead, to those who somehow had missed it, it simply wouldn't do to allow things to continue. Something had to be done. Naturally, the sentients were asked to sign the pocketplane charter upon their entry. A few refused, but anyone who refused to agree to behave civilly in relatively cramped conditions were given dark looks by the other denizens, so most accepted.

But would not the pocket plane be invaded? Someone, possibly Delainy, asked.

Perhaps, he replied, a little absentmindedly, but who would know where to find it? As far as he knew, his pocket plane was veiled, floating unknown in the abyss, like the bloated corpse of a dead god in the Astral Sea. Perhaps someone might even stop it, but as Jan Jansen once said, with enough monkeys, one could do anything. Of course, unlike those simians, Edwin's words, not his, he was going to use something far more reliable.

Without further ado, he set the planar portal and with a single command, unleashed the full fury of the decanters. In five of the seven rooms, the decanters sat, on stairs ringing the room as an amphitheatre, which, he rather felt was fitting. The water flowed down, sweeping towards the portal.

The siege of Saradush was over within a matter of days. Then the desert became a seabed, the saturated quagmire unable to hold more. In the isolated regions of the world, great lakes formed, one after the other. The waters rose higher and higher. As the coasts gave way, the inhabits of the land and sea warred.

Within four tendays, it was over. The peoples of the sea held sway, but with the death of his kin, our hero ascended. As his murderous device claimed countless lives, his power waxed, eclipsing the might of those deities left behind.

As he looked down upon those, his loyal faithful, still in his pocket plane, he felt himself smile. Reaching down, he murmured a single instruction to those still capable: his command? Open a portal to the plane of fire. After all, what happened when fire and water met? It was time to cleanse the world of Faerun fully.

Next on the agenda: tear down the wall of the faithless, usurp the city of the dead and rebuild it, a better afterlife for everyone. Mostly everyone. It might also be a good idea to close off all portals in his home plane, or maybe set a series of portals to the other planes. What was that old thought exercise? When an unstoppable force met an unmovable rock?

 _Fin._


End file.
